Until I Found You

There’s a moment in every life—sometimes quiet, sometimes crashing—when the soul finally admits it’s tired of searching. When the things that once promised satisfaction lose their shine, and the noise of the world grows hollow. I’ve been there. Maybe you have too. Searching through the Earth for something that could fill the ache, something that could bring peace to the hurt buried too deep for words. We chase it in people, in success, in distraction. We tell ourselves that if we can just fix the next thing, earn the next thing, or feel the next thing, we’ll finally be okay. But it never works for long, does it?

There comes a point where your heart whispers what your mind has been avoiding: None of this is enough.

It took me years to understand that emptiness isn’t failure—it’s invitation. An invitation from God to stop trying to patch the hole with temporary things and finally let Him fill it with something eternal.

I searched and searched—through all the bright, noisy places this world told me to look. But peace was never there. It was waiting for me in the quiet, when I finally ran out of strength to keep pretending I was fine. Knees on the floor, tears I didn’t even know I was still holding back spilling freely—and that’s when it happened. Not a lightning strike, not an instant fix, but a slow, gentle awakening. The kind of peace that doesn’t make sense but settles anyway. The kind of presence that wraps around you and whispers, “You were never alone.”

That was the moment everything began to change.

I finally found what I’d been searching for, and it wasn’t something—it was Someone.

The world makes promises it can’t keep. It offers comfort, but only for a while. It offers happiness, but it fades. It offers love, but it’s often conditional. But when I found Him—really found Him—I discovered something different. Something that didn’t depend on my performance or my perfection. Something steady, constant, unchanging.

You lifted my soul and opened up my eyes.

That’s what God does when you let Him in. He doesn’t just polish the surface; He transforms from the inside out. He takes the fragments, the shattered pieces, the things you thought were beyond repair—and He rewrites the story. Suddenly, what was broken becomes beautiful. What was lost begins to find its way home.

I had spent so long trying to build my own peace that I didn’t realize peace was never something to build—it was something to receive. It’s the kind that only comes when you let go, when you surrender control, when you trust that the One who made you knows how to heal you.

And oh, how He heals. Not just the wounds the world can see, but the deep ones—the disappointments that hardened your heart, the regrets that whisper at night, the griefs that never quite leave. He doesn’t rush the process; He just stays. Patient. Gentle. Unmoving. Until little by little, you start to believe again.

I never knew anything could last forever until I found Him.

Because everything else I’d ever known had an ending. Relationships fade. Beauty fades. Strength fades. Even joy, in its worldly form, fades. But His love—His love endures. It outlasts the pain, the questions, the doubts. It reaches farther than failure and deeper than fear. It doesn’t demand perfection—it offers presence. It doesn’t say, “Earn this.” It says, “Come as you are.”

And for the first time in my life, that was enough.

He’s rewriting my story, and I am brand new like a morning.

That line holds so much truth for me. Because every morning since I met Him truly, I’ve woken up with the awareness that yesterday’s weight doesn’t have to define today. The sun still rises. Grace still comes. Forgiveness still waits. That’s the power of His love—it doesn’t erase the past, it redeems it. It takes what was meant for harm and turns it into healing.

When I think about how far I’ve come from the day I fell to my knees, I don’t see perfection. I see transformation. I see how He took my worn-out soul and breathed life back into it. I see how He taught me to see beauty in the ordinary again. To find gratitude in the small things. To find strength in surrender.

It’s easy to talk about faith when everything’s going well, but it’s in the struggle that you learn what faith really is. Faith isn’t pretending the pain doesn’t exist—it’s believing God is still good even when it does. It’s trusting Him when the path is dark, when sleep won’t come, when answers are slow. It’s praising Him not because life is perfect, but because He is.

And maybe that’s what I had to learn all along: peace isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the presence of God in the middle of it.

I used to think finding faith meant finding clarity. But now I know it’s not about clarity—it’s about connection. I still don’t have all the answers, but I don’t need them. I have Him. And that’s enough.

Every day, He’s still rewriting my story.

There are chapters I wish I could erase, pages marked with tears and regret, moments I thought would break me. But He keeps reminding me that those are the very pages where His grace shines brightest. The scars don’t disqualify me—they tell the story of how He found me, how He stayed, how He carried me when I couldn’t move.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing about being found by God—you stop being defined by what broke you and start being defined by who healed you.

If you’ve ever searched—really searched—for something to make life make sense, I want to tell you this: it’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be empty. It’s okay to not have it all figured out. Because the One who made you is still waiting, patient and kind, to fill the space you’ve been trying to fill on your own. He doesn’t ask for perfection, just permission—to enter, to heal, to rewrite.

When you find Him—or maybe when you finally realize He’s been there all along—you’ll understand what forever really means.

Forever isn’t just a measure of time. It’s the peace that settles when love finally finds you and stays. It’s knowing that no matter what happens next, you’ll never be alone again.

I never knew anything could last forever until I found Him. But now I know. And that knowledge changes everything.

Now when I wake up each morning, even in the middle of chaos or uncertainty, I feel the quiet hum of something eternal inside me. It’s hope. It’s peace. It’s love that doesn’t leave when life gets messy. It’s the sound of my story being rewritten by hands far more capable than mine.

I still have my moments—days when I stumble, nights when fear whispers again—but I don’t live there anymore. Because I’ve found the One who calls me new every morning.

And when I look back on the long road that brought me here—the searching, the tears, the moments of surrender—I can see now that none of it was wasted. Every detour led me closer to grace. Every broken piece became part of something beautiful.

So no, I didn’t find peace in the world. I found it on my knees. I found it in the quiet, where all that was left of me was enough for God to rebuild.

And now I can say with certainty: I never knew anything could last forever—until I found Him.

Because everything else fades.
But His love—His unshakable, unconditional, unstoppable love—
that lasts forever.